


I’ll Be the Blood If You’ll Be the Bones

by Thebonemoose



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Daisy POV, Gen, POV Third Person, Trust, buried- related trauma, haircut, platonic intimacy, post Buried, set during s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebonemoose/pseuds/Thebonemoose
Summary: “What… what are you doing?”Daisy heard the voice from behind her. She didn’t bother turning around. It was Jon, of course. It was always Jon.“Cutting hair.” said she.‘Snip’ said the scissors.Jon finds Daisy cutting her hair in the archives. He offers to help. She agrees.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 18
Kudos: 156





	I’ll Be the Blood If You’ll Be the Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t remember Daisy’s actual backstory so if any of this is incongruous with canon lemme just say from the bottom of my heart...my bad. 
> 
> Title is from wolves without teeth by of monsters and men, which is one of many songs on my daisy Tonner playlist.

“What… what are you doing?” 

Daisy heard the voice from behind her. She didn’t bother turning around. It was Jon, of course. It was always Jon.

“Cutting hair.” said she.

‘Snip’ said the scissors.

“Can I ask why?”

Daisy’s hand stilled, her fingers still gripping the shears. She half turned towards Jon, and sighed. If anyone would understand, he would. “I… I can’t take the feeling of it on my neck. Or my face. It… it just feels like it’s choking me,” she said softly.

Jon nodded.

She was right; he understood.

“Would you like some help?” He asked, and stepped closer. 

Daisy looked down at the scissors in her hand, and then to the small rectangular mirror propped up against a stack of books. 

She turned back to Jon, and nodded wordlessly.

Jon took the scissors from her easily and kneeled down beside her on the ground. He grabbed her hair just tight enough between two fingers to pull it straight, then began to cut.

He worked in silence. Daisy closed her eyes, limiting her world to the smell of parchment, the sound of the scissors snipping mixed with Jon’s breathing, and the pull of her hair between his fingers. She could let herself melt away, dissolving in the atmosphere of the archives.

Jon put the scissors down. “How’s that?” He asked, and Daisy opened her eyes.

Her hair was shorter than it had ever been, halfway up her neck. In another life, she could’ve liked this hairstyle.

“Shorter.”

Jon picked up the scissors again, and got to snipping.

There was something bittersweet about cutting her hair. When she was younger, she felt her hair was one of her best features. She took pride in growing it out, thick and strong and straight. Her mother, her aunts, her grandmothers, they all would pet her head and feel her hair and talk approvingly about how lovely it was.

And Daisy loved it. She adored that brief moment of connection it gave to the women in her family, most of whom she had always felt at odds with. 

She grew more distant, of course. Of course.

But it was nice to remember a time before she was swallowed up by fear, of one sort or another.

The problem was that she had changed. She wasn’t the same person whose aunties pet her hair and complimented it. She was the person who murdered people for an ancient fear god, and liked it.

If only Jon could hear her thoughts now, hm?

The scissors kept snipping off hair, shorter and shorter as Jon played at symmetry. It was a good shot, anyways.

“Is this good?” 

It was up to her chin now. 

She shook her head. “Shorter.”

Jon got to work without another word.

She liked her long hair, even after she started working for the archives. It felt like a reminder of her femininity. She felt pretty with her long hair, something she relished when the rest of her was all strength and sharp edges and hard angles and fighting. 

A part of her really hated seeing it cut off so carelessly. 

But that part lost its voice after months of swallowing dirt. 

Jon was gripping her scalp now, trying to even out a shoddy crew cut.

“Good?” 

She nearly smiled. “Better,” she said. 

Jon grinned. “I think— I think Tim had clippers in his desk, they might still be there.”

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, and nodded. Jon stood wordlessly, and walked away.

Daisy stared at her reflection. 

It was probably the worst haircut she’d ever had, but she didn’t care. It was uneven and patchy, but too short to tangle around her neck, too short to twist and pull and asphyxiate her. 

She ran her hands through it, tried pulling the locks of hair, but they were all too short. Good. That was good. 

Her face looked different with short hair. Sharper. Angular. Her cheekbones stuck out more, her gaunt features more noticeable without any hair to hide behind or distract. But her eyes were brighter now. 

Daisy closed her eyes against the memory that ran through her mind, unbidden. 

It was during the time that Elias was forcing her to hunt people for him, and she’d been pursuing some young, terrified guy. He didn’t know anything. But she’d killed him, and she caught sight of herself in the motel bathroom mirror, hair flying out of her ponytail, blood splatter on her face. Eyes bright.

The gunpowder smell hung in the air, and the body of the man was limp in the bathtub where he’d tried in vain to hide. 

But he couldn’t. You could never hide from the Hunt. 

Daisy forced her eyes closed, and tried to breathe deeply. 

Listen to the quiet. That’s the promise they were making to one another, her and Jon. Listen to the quiet. 

And she was. This was a quiet place, after all. But that didn’t mean the blood couldn’t rush in at any moment, couldn’t drown her in red instantly, couldn’t saturate and drench everyone and everything she loved.

She exhaled carefully. 

Jon’s light, uncareful footsteps came up behind her, and she opened her eyes to see his reflection in the mirror, holding up a pair of clippers with a triumphant smile.

She couldn’t help but return his grin. He sat behind her again, and plugged the clippers into the wall. It whirred to life, emitting an annoying droning hum as the blades moved.

Jon looked at her for one last confirmation, and Daisy nodded.

He pressed the end of the clippers to her scalp, and a thousand tiny hairs fell over her shirt and shoulders.

Jon went over her head three more times, making sure it was short enough, even enough, making sure it was good for her. 

He felt guilty, she knew. He always felt guilty. Like a monster. It was bad for him. Sometimes Daisy felt he was the least monstrous of all of them. 

He tried to make up for it, of course he did. Helping out where he could. Offering tea, or information. 

Diving into the Buried to save a person who had hated him.

Guilty conscious, that.

“How is it now?” He asked softly.

She smiled. “It’s good. Thank you, Jon.” 

He ducked his head and offered her a shirt to change into that wasn’t covered in hair. 

She changed while he swept, and when she came back out, Jon was seated at the sofa, holding a mug and staring into the distance. She sat beside him, close enough so their thighs were touching. 

“Thank you,” she said again, and he shrugged.

“It’s no trouble.”

“It feels better now,” she said, and easily grabbed his mug from him, taking a small sip and grimacing. Peppermint. She hated peppermint.

“I’m glad,” Jon said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

Well, he could keep his disgusting tea and his judgement, thanks very much.

“You sure you don’t want a trim?” Daisy asked, taking a lock of Jon’s hair between her fingers. It was down past his shoulders, now. It had been overgrown even before the Unknowing, but add in six months of unimpeded hair growth and you’d have a fairly good idea for the long and slightly chaotic nature of Jon’s hair.

He shook his head. “Putting it up does the trick, for now. But I’ll tell you if I change my mind,” he said easily.

She shrugged, then scooted down so she could put her head on his shoulder. 

Jon leaned his head down just enough so she could feel it, feel him reciprocating.

The trust they had built together had such fragile, rocky beginnings, but it was strong, now. Quiet. Understanding.

Part of her felt like it was the best thing she’d ever done.

She didn’t tell him any of that, however: she didn’t need to. He already Knew.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is, I hope you liked it. I have a lot of emotions about daisy and Jon, I hope we see her again in s5. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please drop a comment or kudos if the mood strikes!


End file.
